


Merit

by ghostofgatsby



Series: to obey and command [4]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Dom/sub, Flogging, M/M, Military Kink, Restraints, Sensation Play, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You keep running your mouth, Corporal, and nothing I’m doing seems to work to stop you.”<br/>“Maybe you should fucking gag me, then, <em>Lieutenant,</em>” Smith snaps, “If you want me quiet, why don't you?”<br/>“Because gagging you is too easy, sunshine. And I'm not about to give you what you want if you disobey me.”<br/>Smith groans. “Your tiny dick wouldn’t be big enough to shut me up, anyways,” he retorts through gritted teeth.<br/>Trott stops moving behind him, and Smith knows that was the wrong thing to say when he has his back turned to his superior.<br/>"Shit..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merit

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't finish the Military Kink series out without writing some Troffy, could I?
> 
> cw: none, besides the tags above. mention of scratching, nipple pinching, gags. If I need to tag something, let me know.
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/09/08/merit-ghostofgatsby/
> 
> Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see/see more of in this series!

“Corporal, Corporal, Corporal... _what_ am I going to do with you?” Trott tuts, twisting the falls on the flogger taut in his free hand. In one motion he lets go and strikes Smith in the ass.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Smith curses. He shifts where he's leaning against the wall. His head is down, with his hands in cuffs on the back of his neck, and his ankles cuffed in a spreader bar shoulder-length apart. His clothes are piled by the door, because he’d followed that command when he entered the room.

The “no talking” one, not so much.

Trott repeats the motion on Smith’s other asscheek, and Smith yelps again.

“You keep running your mouth, Corporal, and nothing I’m doing seems to work to stop you.”

“Maybe you should fucking gag me, then, _Lieutenant_ ,” Smith snaps, “If you want me quiet, why don't you?”

“Because gagging you is too easy, sunshine. And I'm not about to give you what you want if you disobey me.” Trott adjusts his stance, pinwheeling the flogger in his hand and striking Smith’s asscheeks in alternating hits. The tips of the falls thwack on Smith’s bare skin, bringing a red-pink coloration to the surface.

Smith groans. “Your tiny dick wouldn’t be big enough to shut me up, anyways,” he retorts through gritted teeth.

Trott stops.

Smith hunches closer to the wall. “Shit...” he hisses, mumbling curse words.

Trott walks up behind him, one step at a time, the sound of his footfalls slowly getting closer until he stands centimeters from Smith’s naked back. He brackets Smith against the wall with his boots on either side of Smith’s feet and his arms on either side of Smith’s head.

“Just fucking gag me and you’ll get what you want!” Smith stammers.

Trott leans his lips close to Smith’s ear. “What I want...” he whispers, “is for you to relinquish your control. _Voluntarily_.” His hot breath makes Smith shudder, and then one of Trott’s hands is on his chest.

“You keep talking, and you’ll keep getting struck,” Trott continues. His nails scratch long angry lines down Smith torso. “The strikes will come the same as long as you run your mouth. Any more insults, and I’ll stop this altogether. And I _know_...that’s the last thing you want...” He pinches a nipple, and Smith winces sharply.

“You know what I want, Corporal- so keep your mouth _shut_.” Trott pulls away. Smith hears him back up and then the flogger starts on his ass again. It was just shy of being heavy- it isn’t enough sensation. It isn’t hard enough that Smith can easily slip into the feelings and forget about talking. And Trott _knows_ that.

“Fuck. Harder.” Smith moans. “Please, sir. come on!” He might get closer to what he wants if he begs...

“No. You know what I want- I gave you my orders, so _obey them._ ”

The hits come slow and steady, even like the tide going in and out.

“ _Fuck._ Fuck, _come on!_ ” Smith pulls at the restraints on his wrists and ankles a little in frustration. “I can take it!”

“Oh, I know you can, Corporal. Why do you think I keep giving you this?”

Smith starts to curse more at him, and in response, Trott changes tactic. He moves away from Smith’s ass and caresses his shoulders with the falls instead. He starts up a rhythm on Smith’s upper back, swinging the handle of the flogger in a figure eight motion and watching Smith slump closer to the wall.

“Come on, sunshine...all you have to do is obey. I know you want to please me, so why don’t you?” Trott coos.

“Fuck, sir-” Smith’s mutter curses start stuttering, and turn into whimpers and moans.

“Shhhh...”

The quieter Smith gets, the more Trott builds up his strokes like an oncoming train. The strokes come faster and faster. Bit by bit, he hits harder. Each strike lands on the flesh of Smith's shoulders.

Every loud thwack of leather against skin makes Smith stutter mid-breath.

“Save the spitfire for the war, Corporal,” Trott advises him, “A wild hellion like you needs that for the battles, not for back-talking your superiors.” He continues flogging Smith until the noises trickle into occasional breathless moans, and then long stretches of silence.

Trott slows and lightens his strokes a little at a time. He eventually comes to a stop and stands still for a moment to rest his hand.

Smith leans against the wall, breathing deeply and slowly, without speaking. His knees are trembling. They would buckle if he wasn’t propped up so heavily.

Trott clears his throat. He moves closer and rubs a soothing hand along Smith's back and ass. “Good boy...” he murmurs quietly. “This is how I like you. Quiet. Subdued.”

Smith's chest rises and falls with each breath. His forehead lolls against the wall. His eyes are closed, and his lips are parted just the slightest.

“Don't get me wrong, sunshine, I like you for your fury and your vicarious disposition...and I like you for your strength and beauty all the same.”

Smith hums, a soft whimpering sound.

“I know, shh...” Trott shushes him, rubbing his shoulders. “I like you for your attitude and for your leadership, but this? _This_ definitely has it's merits.”

They stand there for awhile in the hushed atmosphere. Trott rubs Smith's back in slow circles, listening to the sound of their breathing.

Slowly, Smith comes back to himself a little with a quiet sigh.

“With me, sunshine?” Trott asks him.

Smith nods silently.

“Good boy. Let's get you down from here.”

Trott unbuckles the restraints around Smith’s wrists and ankles and takes away the spreader bar. He leads Smith to the bed and gets him a glass of water. They curl up under the really soft, plush microfiber blankets they have for this type of scenario, and Trott watches the marks on Smith's back lighten bit by bit. He shifts his fingers through Smith’s hair and watches Smith doze.

As the day goes on, the shadows on the wall lengthen. When Smith wakes again, he blinks heavily.

“Trott?” he croaks.

“I’m right here, Smith.” Trott squeezes their entwined fingers, rubbing his thumb over the back of Smith’s hand.

Smith lets out a long sigh. Trott sets aside the book he’d been reading while Smith was sleeping.

“Trott,” Smith says, rubbing his cheek into the blankets.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks...”

“Of course, sunshine. You need anything?” He runs his fingers through Smith’s hair again.

“Food soon.”

“Alright. I’ll order. That okay with you?”

Smith hums in wordless agreement, and Trott smiles down at him.


End file.
